Bound and Bent: Ten Tales of Serving Him

by Jessi Bond, Skye Eagleday, Cherry Dare, Mike Ox, Rod Mandelli, Audrey Ellen Grace, Jere Haken, Mandoline Creme, Gia Vanna

  "What happens after?" Blake wanted to know.

  "Whatever you like," Sarceda replied.

  If we get out of here alive, Blake thought - and looking at Sarceda's face, he saw the same doubts and fears mirrored back to him. But he saw something else, too.

  A singular desire. The thirst for revenge. All-consuming, cruel, and unstoppable.

  "So this is it, then?" Blake muttered, picking at the burrito. "So this is what it was all for?"

  Sarceda set his face into an impassive mask and stood, kicking the cage just before he turned and walked away. "Quiet," he barked, stalking out of the room with his head held high. Only Blake noticed the nervous movement of his fingers, moving up and down as if playing an invisible arpeggio. Everything in his life had been leading up to this. Blake couldn't even imagine what it must feel like.

  Sarceda had, essentially, promised him his freedom if all went well tonight. He might be lying. Then again, either way, Blake might be able to escape in the chaos. To run back to the loving arms of the agency that didn't want him anymore. Whether or not Sarceda was lying about how he was able to ambush the convoy, it was quite obvious that nobody knew what to do with Blake anymore. They were afraid of him. They didn't know who he was anymore.

  Hell, neither did he.

  The night came much more quickly than he was expecting. He was relieved to finally stretch his cramped muscles when one of the guards unlocked his cage, and Sarceda walked in the room a moment later.

  "Are you all right?" he said, quietly.

  Blake shrugged. "Does it matter?"

  Sarceda frowned at him. "Why do you get so irritable when I'm nice to you?"

  "It always makes me think you're plotting something. And I need to take a piss, since you were nice enough to ask."

  "Come on." Sarceda barked something at the guards, too quickly for Blake to understand, and led him through a small door to the outside. It was dark outside now, and the stifling heat had lifted a little.

  "Slaves aren't allowed to sully the indoors with their bodily fluids, I presume?" Blake instinctively reached for a zipper, as well as he could with his hands cuffed together, before his hands brushed against flesh and he remembered he was naked.

  "Better not to raise any questions," Sarceda replied. His eyes shone in the moonlight, his whole body tense with anticipation. He leaned close to Blake, lowering his voice. "Listen. From everything I've heard, Alvarez is a true sadist. He won't go easy on you."

  "Are you worried about me?"

  "It's just...it's going to be worse than you're used to. I'll do what I can, but he's going to expect you to be able to withstand quite a lot."

  "Thank you," said Blake. "But I've been tortured by crueler men than you."

  When they went back inside, Blake kept his eyes on the floor and just kept walking forward. Was Alvarez really this trusting? After all this time and effort that Sarceda had obviously expended, trying to get in his good graces, was the gift of a slave really enough to lower his defenses, even for a single night?

  The guards left them about halfway down the hall, which led to what Blake could only assume was Alvarez's room. And sure enough, the man himself opened the door as they approached. Blake could hear the guards' heavy boots retreating.

  "Come in, please," Alvarez gestured them both into the room, shutting and locking the door behind him. He looked at Blake, again with that ruthless, hungry gaze that made Blake want to punch him in the gut. Who the hell did he think he was?

  Blake took a deep breath. He was going to have to get used to the idea of being this man's...plaything, just for the night. He could practically feel Sarceda's eyes boring into him, but he kept his own straight ahead, pointed at the floor.

  "Tell me about his training," Alvarez said. "I hope he knows how to withstand pain."

  "Well, his other training took care of that," Sarceda replied. "I wanted to leave him relatively unscathed for you, but he's stood up to caning like a brave little soldier. Bondage, orgasm denial, fisting...he's used to it all by now. You can even hold a gun to his head if you like, although I won't be held responsible if it goes off."

  "What about knives?" Alvarez was circling around Blake over and over again, coming closer every time. Finally, he stopped behind him, and Blake felt something cold against his neck.

  "No knives yet," Sarceda said. "But, there's a first time for everything."

  The blade was beginning to warm against his skin. Blake's heartbeat quickened as he felt Alvarez's fingers trail down his shoulder, sliding around to his chest, making their way down to his groin and cupping him, possessively. In spite of himself, Blake felt his dick begin to swell in the warmth of the man's hand.

  "I think he likes it," Alvarez murmured. He stepped back abruptly. "Get down, slut. On the floor. Head on the ground, ass in the air."

  Blake stared at him for a moment.

  "Are you deaf?" Alvarez grabbed him by the jaw and squeezed, hard, then pushed him away. "I said get down!"

  He didn't know why, but Blake hadn't expected things to escalate so quickly. He felt real fear - a terror clawing at the inside of his chest, a kind of fear he'd never felt with Sarceda. He had no idea what was going to happen to him. This situation was completely out of his control.

  He got down in the position he was ordered to take, the handcuffs forcing him to keep his arms straight underneath his torso. The floor was rough under his knees and the side of his face, and he didn't even want to think about how utterly exposed and vulnerable he was from the back. As if on cue, he felt Alvarez's heavy boot tapping against his ankle, forcing his legs further apart.

  "Here," said Alvarez, apparently addressing Sarceda. "Put these on him. We don't want him going anywhere tonight."

  Blake felt something being fastened around each ankle - cuffs of some sort, followed by something rigid running between them, keeping them spread the same distance apart. Finally, Sarceda attached the handcuffs to it, rendering Blake utterly helpless.

  Alvarez crouched down in front of him, holding up his knife so that Blake could see it before touching it against his back, running it along the lines and contours of his body, never breaking the skin but always threatening to. Blake squeezed his eyes shut.

  "I bet you'd look even better with a gag in that pretty mouth," Alvarez said. "But I can't abide the things. I just have to hear every...little...sound." He punctuated these last few words by pressing the sharp edge of the blade into Blake's skin repeatedly, just enough to sting, but pulling back at the last moment.

  Sarceda reappeared in Blake's limited line of vision, standing off to the side and watching intently. Blake couldn't read any emotion into his expression. Alvarez stood and walked to a closet nearby, coming back with a black leather riding crop, which he snapped in the air with a certain relish. The knife went back into its holster.

  "I'm a complicated man," he said. "While I certainly hope you can put up with a great deal of abuse - which you ought to, if Sarceda is telling the truth - I also hope that you break eventually. There are many ugly rumors circulating about me and my perversions, but the fact of the matter is that it's all very simple. I need to see you cry."

  It was very matter-of-fact, very cold - but the statement sent a chill down Blake's spine.

  "If you don't cry, I can't get hard," Alvarez went on. "If I can't get hard, I can't fuck you within an inch of your life. If I can't fuck you, I'll get frustrated - and I don't think you would like me when I'm frustrated. The thing is, it has to be genuine. If you cry too early, I will know that it's fake."

  There was a pause.

  "Do you understand?"

  "Yes," Blake whispered against the floorboards.

  And just like that, the bottom of Alvarez's boot was heavy against the side of his face, pressing down hard. "Louder, slut!"

  "Yes!" Blake shouted, his voice coming out more strained than he would have liked.

  The boot lifted, slowly.

  Blake kept his eyes fixed on Sarceda. He thought he sa
w a muscle in the man's jaw twitch, betraying some emotion roiling just below the surface. Blake was sure that his own fear and pain were written plainly across his own face, as much as he might try to hide them.

  The crop came down on the side of his ribcage, one sharp crack, and then again and again and again. The pain was intense, more than Blake could have imagined for such a small strip of leather hitting his skin. He gritted his teeth as Alvarez beat him about both sides of his torso, gaining momentum with every strike. Eventually Alvarez had to stop, slightly out of breath, sitting down on the foot of his bed and wiping his forehead on his sleeve. Blake relaxed. He was aching and stinging all over, but at least Alvarez was limited by his own lack of stamina.

  "Here," said Alvarez, holding out the crop in Sarceda's direction. "Your turn."

  Sarceda took it, examining it closely, bending the long handle and playing with the leather tip. He walked over to Blake, who flinched; but Sarceda just rested the leather on his skin, dragging it lightly up and down his spine.

  "What are you doing?" Alvarez demanded. "This is supposed to be about pain."

  "What's pain without pleasure?" Sarceda pulled back and gave Blake a little smack on one ass cheek, and Blake could hear the smile in his voice. "Relentless punishment loses its bite very quickly, I find. One needs a bit of both, for comparison's sake."

  Alvarez made an exasperated noise. "I think we differ a little in our philosophies, Sarceda."

  "It's never too late to try something new," Sarceda replied, dragging the crop along Blake's inner thigh. "I find a good dose of pleasure always keeps them coming back for more."

  "What the hell is that supposed to mean? 'Coming back?' He'll take what I give him, whether he likes it or not."

  "Of course," said Sarceda, smoothly, nudging the crop against Blake's balls. "But the happier they are-"

  Alvarez stood up suddenly. "All right," he barked. "Give it back. You're not accomplishing anything."

  Blake was just beginning to recover, his skin still tender and flushed but no longer hurting. Now, each strike from the crop felt a hundred times worse. He cried out, writhing as much as he could while bound in such an awkward position, but no tears gathered in the corners of his eyes.

  "You've done well so far, whore," Alvarez said, pausing for a moment. Blake was panting, every muscle in his body tense with the anticipation of more pain. "But I should warn you, you're beginning to try my patience."

  It hadn't been very long. Did he usually make men cry faster than this? Blake began to feel a knot of panic growing inside him. Across the room, Sarceda stepped forward.

  "It's my fault," he said, the words sounding rushed. "I don't...I hate it when they cry, I trained him not to. I punished him severely. I don't even know if he can anymore."

  "We'll see about that." Alvarez lifted the crop high. "Sarceda, if you don't have the stomach for this, perhaps you'd better go."

  "It's fine," said Sarceda, his jaw clenched. "I just don't want to see all my hard work go to waste because you don't know when to stop."

  Alvarez brought the crop down with a savage speed, directly on the exposed side of Blake's face. The noise that came out of his mouth was inhuman - and the tears came a moment later, leaking out of his eyes, utterly unstoppable.

  When he'd blinked enough so that he could see again through the red haze of pain, Blake noticed Sarceda, standing just a few feet away now, his nostrils flaring with every breath. He raked a hand through his hair, his eyes darting between Blake and Alvarez, looking for all the world like an animal about to pounce.

  Blake could hear Alvarez unfastening his trousers, making disgusting, greedy little noises as he stared at Blake's spread-open ass. Then, Blake heard him spit in his hand.

  He had to force his body to relax, to bear down, as Alvarez's cock slid into him. It didn't feel anything like Sarceda's. It was thick, but short, far too short to bump against that spot that made him see stars. But at least the worst of the pain was over. He tried to let his body go slack, to forget, although he could tell from the throbbing sensation on the side of his head that he was going to have an ugly bruise. Alvarez was grunting now; it would be over soon. Blake closed his eyes and let it happen.

  A while later, he felt someone begin to undo his restraints. Once he was able to move semi-freely again, he collapsed on the floor, every bone and muscle in his body aching. Sarceda was standing there, looking down at him with an expression that bordered on actual worry.

  Alvarez was lounging on the bed. "Slut," he said, lazily. Blake looked up without hesitation and hated himself for doing it. "Suck his cock. I want to see."

  Blake got onto his knees, although they hurt terribly, and looked up at Sarceda. His eyes were alight with something Blake wasn't entirely sure he understood, so he just unzipped his pants and got to work.

  It took a little coaxing for Sarceda to begin to grow hard, but he did. Blake tried to remember what he liked best when girls did this to him, suckling and swirling his tongue around the head. It was so different from the last time, Sarceda just standing there and letting him do it, looking down at him with a surprisingly gentle expression on his face. His jaw began to ache, his lips raw from folding them carefully over his teeth, but it was worth it just to do something to someone who appreciated it. Who actually seemed to think of him as a human being, from time to time. Finally, Blake felt the telltale swelling of Sarceda's cock, and saw his eyes close in pleasure. He closed his eyes, too, and readied himself to swallow. Long, hot pulses of come filled his mouth, and he would have never in a thousand years guessed that such a feeling could be gratifying to him in any way, but it was. Somehow, it was.

  When he opened his eyes, it was to the sight of Alvarez holding a pistol against Sarceda's skull.

  "You thought you were so clever," Alvarez said, softly. "Didn't you?"

  Blake let Sarceda's rapidly softening cock slip out from between his lips. Alvarez wasn't even looking at him. All of his attention was focused on his enemy.

  "I am clever," Sarceda replied, his voice twisted with all of the hate he'd been holding back. "And you're a monster."

  "I can afford to be," Alvarez replied. "Any last words? Or would you rather just scream and cry, like you did when I killed your family?"

  After everything he'd been through, Blake wasn't sure how he managed to force his muscles to react so quickly to his command. But he was on his feet before either of the other men knew what was happening, getting behind Alvarez and slinging his still-cuffed hands over Alvarez's head. He then pulled them together as tight as he could, the cuffs themselves and the short metal chain that connected them digging into Alvarez's throat. He dropped the gun, gagging, stumbling backwards as he tried to get a grip on the cuffs and pull them away. But Blake never faltered, never slackened, until he felt Alvarez's body go limp against his.

  He let it fall, then, kicking it away from him across the floor.

  "There," he said, looking at Sarceda. "It's done."

  Sarceda worked his mouth open and shut a few times, but words failed him. Blake walked over to the closet and pulled out the first shirt and pants he found, pulling them on quickly. "What's the escape plan?" he asked, and Sarceda finally found his voice.

  "Over here," he said. "There's a false panel in the wall that leads to a tunnel outside. Only a few people know about it. It was meant for Señor Alvarez's private use only. We'll have a good head start."

  "I suppose we'll have to leave the car behind."

  "Don't worry, there's one waiting."

  They climbed into the tunnel, running with their heads low, until Blake felt like there was fire in his lungs. Every part of his body was fully exhausted, but he just had to push himself a little farther. Finally, they reached the end, and stepped out into the warm night air. Just as Sarceda had promised, a few of his men were waiting.

  In the backseat of the car, Sarceda dropped a small bundle in Blake's lap.

  "What's that?" he asked, trying to feel his way around it in the
dark. There were papers there, certainly - a lot of papers.

  "It's everything you had with you," Sarceda replied. "Passport, documents, money - you'll need it when you go back."

  Oh. Of course. He'd be going back now.

  "I have to confess, I didn't think you'd really let me go," Blake said, toying with the edge of his passport.

  "Well," said Sarceda. "That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

  They drove for a long time, the area growing visibly more metropolitan with each mile. Blake realized they were following signs for the airport. He felt a strange tug in his chest.

  The car pulled into a deserted parking lot, and Blake climbed out. He knew he must look like hell - he'd certainly get pulled for extra screening by security. Oh, well. He could always make a few phone calls. Then again, perhaps it was better if the agency didn't know he was coming back.

  Sarceda got out of the car, too.

  "I'm sorry I robbed you of your moment," Blake said, the thought suddenly occurring to him. "But he seemed serious."

  "You're sorry?" Sarceda let out a bitter laugh. After what appeared to be a moment's reflection, he stepped forward and unfastened Blake's collar.

  "There," he said, as he stepped away with the strip of leather that had been a part of Blake's life for so long. "Now you can go home."

  Yes, of course. Home.

  There was no place like it.

  ***

  Lambert was the first person to see Blake back in London, though not by design.

  Not by Lambert's design, at any rate.

  He sensed something was slightly off when he stepped into his flat, but he shook it off as the lingering remnants of a particularly ugly case file he'd been reading just before he left the office. He had actually started the tea kettle boiling and unfolded the newspaper before he saw Blake sitting in the corner, silenced pistol in hand.

  "Blake," he said, his hands raised his a supplicating gesture. "Please, put down the gun."

  "What makes you think I'm going to use it on you?" Blake replied mildly, toying with the barrel. "Maybe I'm here to protect you. Unless...you have a guilty conscience?"